I have lost confidence in my work. I can't write a fucking query letter. A FUCKING QUERY LETTER. I can't write a less than eight sentences telling someone what my book is about. I can't decide where the comma goes, whether I should use a semi-colon or just start a new sentence all together.
I see new pieces of shit every week on the bookshelves and say, why can't my piece of shit be the future laughing stock of the bargain bin? Dan Brown gets away with it. Every jackass cranking out event-centered-historical-fiction gets away with it. I want to be able to pry your hard earned money from your hands, then, force you to read the tripe that a twelve year old with a north eastern education could have pissed through a fountain pen after a slushee bender, and force you to ask yourself "why did I buy this piece of shit again?"
What's not a piece of shit? Greg Rucka's newest Atticus Kodiak novel comes out tomorrow - Patriot Acts.
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